


Lost

by fictive_frolic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: You are less than interested in your husband to be. But can he change your mind?
Relationships: Thor/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

“Empress,” a voice shouted from below your balcony, “The delegation approaches.”

You look down to see a rider approaching, waving his arms wildly. It’s just a lad. A very young lad. Who had clearly only been a page for a short time, so, you flip him a coin and nod, turning back to your Regent, “Must I do this?”

“You must,” Your uncle said sternly. “You’re Empress in name only until you take a husband. And I won’t be around forever.”

“Why wouldn’t you have been evil,” you sigh, “At least locked in a tower I’d have time to finish my bloody book.”

He chuckled, “Darling, I was meant for the Priesthood. Not the Throne. And as soon as you’re safely installed on your throne with a husband to run it all into the ground for you, it’s back to the gods I go.”

You sigh and turn towards the mirror, fussing with the sleeves of your spider silk gown. You miss the freedom of tunics and leggings. Corsets might push all the mincemeats to the top of the pie, but… How could you fight if you couldn’t breathe? “Uncle Aeon, how am I to do this?” you ask.

“The same way you’ve done everything, Sweetheart,” he said fondly, “By gritting your teeth and charging ahead.”

“And how will I do this without your guidance?” you ask.

He smiled and kissed the top of your head, “Y/N,” he tutted, “You’ll be a fine Empress. Everything your father could have hoped for to take his place.”

You take a deep breath and blink back tears. It still hurts. You don’t think it will ever stop hurting. Even if it wasn’t sudden. Even if you knew it was coming. The birthright that you should have been longing for tasted like soot in your mouth. But, like you’d been taught, over and over and over again. You straighten your back. Like a puppet on a string and force yourself to smile. 

Not showing teeth, of course. But a smile none the less and allow yourself to be lead. 

Aeon, you know, never asked for this post. He liked his little country parishes. And his pretty village girls. He liked keeping chickens. He was the third born and glad of it. No hard military campaigns or tough choices had awaited him. He could have handed the care of you off to any number of eager relatives. But he hadn’t. When your Father, Farrin, had named him Regent, he’d given away his chickens and moved to the capital. Into his old rooms. And set about keeping the wolves at bay. All while trying to guide you through the woods. And keep his sanity. He’d done his duty, and now like it or not, it was your turn. His Parrish was waiting. And so was the temple. And his new chicks to raise… You hoped he didn’t mind that you’d named them for him. Or that you’d had them a lovely little coop built.

Your footsteps are silent next to Aeon’s. His ring on the flagstones. Echoing down the empty halls to the Great Room. Without the usual bustle of courtiers, the gallery has a strange feel to it. Too quiet. Almost foreboding. But your brush the notion aside quickly. This Delegation had been planned for, for ages. Asgard’s Prince needs a Princess, and the All-Father is eager for his dynasty to expand. Another plot of land to rule and a daughter in law with a pretty pedigree is all he needs for this new show of power he’s plotting, you know. You also understand that Aeon, for all his patience, was nearly at his wit’s end dealing with the Old man. And that he was less than fond of your would-be spouse. But, even from beyond the grave, what father wanted, father got. From almost the instant you first drew breath, this had been set in motion. And now that you had achieved majority, it was time to come to fruition… A refusal now was considered a Breach of promise, and grounds for war. So whether you willed it or not, it had to be done. 

When the doors of the hall sweep open to allow you entrance, the fanfare is deafening. It nearly drowns out the beating of your heart that rings in your ears. You feel light-headed. The heat from the crush of bodies and the jangling of your nerves are almost enough to send you reeling. But, you soldier on. Listening to your string of titles being read out by a herald. At your side, Aeon looks a little proud. Not of himself, of course, you think with a smile. Aeon is a perfectly pious priest. He doesn’t believe in pride in one’s self… but, he’s always reckoned the gods would forgive him for being proud of you. But at the end of the carpet, when you see the Delegation, you have no time to consider that. 

Your betrothed is waiting. Smiling, though, he looks less than interested in you. You’d like to be hurt by that, but honestly, you don’t blame him. You aren’t terribly interested either, but here you are. Corseted and swaddled in yards of fabric, your shoes somehow slightly too big and leaving you to feel like a well-trussed duck. 

“Your Highness,” you say, as he bows politely over your extended hand. 

“Your majesty,” he said, giving you a crooked smile that, in another context, would probably earn him your favor. “I had heard of your beauty, and I’m pleased to find that those accounts do not do you justice.”

You laugh politely, but inside, you cringe. Why is it always your face? Not your strategy in battle. Not your skill with Animals. Not your diplomatic feats. Not your damned public policy. Only ever your face. You can feel Aeon’s frown behind you. And that pleased you. At least Aeon was mildly offended on your behalf, while your ladies, the traitors, all swooned at the words. “I’m sure that isn’t true,” you say modestly, “But I’m grateful for the flattery none the less.” You smile, all dimples and long lashes, playing the part you’re supposed to play, and Thor looks slightly more interested then. His merry blue eyes gleam, and you groan internally. 

Like the Knights in the Southern Kingdoms, he seems to be a bit… dull. “Your Highness,” you say, mustering all the warmth that you can, “My house is yours. Please. Allow my people to make you comfortable for you and your party have traveled far. Tonight, we will feast, and I will bid you welcome properly. But for now, please. Rest and refresh yourselves.”

Thor bows over your hand again and this time kisses it as his Delegation, and your courtiers clap politely at the pretty speech. You watch as they are all lead to their rooms and turn slightly to look at Aeon. Your uncle exhales slowly and leans closer to your ear, “Perhaps you can convince him to take a vow of silence,” he jokes. 

The thought makes you snort and Aeon smiles a little, “Go on, Dearest,” he says fondly. And you don’t need telling twice. Fabulous gown and decorum or no. You can’t think cloistered away in this hall. And with your guests otherwise occupied, you know just where to go. And where to find someone who owes you a favor. Or two.


	2. Chapter 2

Thor leaned on the balcony with a sigh. He wasn’t sure that he actually wanted to do this, but then. It could be worse. You could be ugly.

And that, you were indeed not. You were comely enough. Lush. Sweet faced. Deceptively so, if any of the accounts were accurate. You were, presumably, a fierce warrior. One that could hold her own from dragon back. That pleased him if he was honest. He didn’t want a pretty piece of furniture. If he had to take a wife, he wanted someone who could hold their own in a fight.

He watched the bustle below. Tables being moved outside for a party under the stars. And he supposed he should lie down. Fae, much like Asgard, is known for its parties. Grand feasts and drinking and dancing until the morning. It wouldn’t do to have the groom to be snoring into his ale before the party had really had time to begin. And he was tired.

The trip through the Bifrost was usually exhausting. But from The top side of Midgard to the Fae realms... It was enough to wear out even him. But he was enjoying watching the preparations. And he supposed, waiting for you. He wondered where you had gone. If you were working or merely taking some time to hide.

He wouldn’t blame you if you had. From what he could tell, you may be Empress in name only, but in recent years your Regent had given over more and more of the business of ruling to you. Not a terrible plan, really. Thor had to concede that point. Aeon, it seemed, was a better strategist than Odin had given him credit for. Aeon also appeared to have a pretty good handle on you. And that worried Thor.

If he wanted Aeon could convince you to impose several laws. Religious laws. And Thor was willing to bet that you would do it. He hadn’t missed the way Aeon had frowned when Thor paid compliments to your beauty. Or that you had looked at him, as if for permission before welcoming them to your court. It had been quick, but it had been there. 

The Asgardian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Next door, he could hear the Warriors Three in cheerful disagreement about wine. And the giggle of a pretty chambermaid who, if Thor wasn’t mistaken, was probably sitting on Fandral’s knee. Feeling both terrified and exhilarated. He’d like to join them, but he wasn’t in a gaming mood. And his Betrothed was just shouting distance away... On Asgard, harmless flirting was just that. But here? Who knew what the fae considered loyalty. And where the boundaries for unfaithfulness lay. And he thought it would be best not to test it. 

You may be Empress in name only, but. Your word, if Aeon didn’t say otherwise, was law. And if he irked you enough, this entire alliance could fall apart. 

The shuffling of feet and the turning of pages behind him prompted Thor to turn, “Loki,” he said, nodding.

“Thor,” Loki said, yawning, “How do you find your bride?”

“Comely enough,” Thor answered carefully.

“A glowing assessment,” Loki snorted.

Thor chuckled, “I spoke to her for about 3 minutes before she hustled us all off,” he reminded.

“Impeccable manners,” Loki said, “We’re all certainly put up well.”

Thor nodded, that was true enough. “Fae hospitality, I suppose.”

Loki moved towards the window, admiring the view. And he didn’t miss you hastening across the lawn yourself, seemingly invisible to the people around you. “I wonder where she’s going?” Loki mused. 

Thor looked the direction Loki had indicated, frowning slightly. He didn’t know how you managed to be outside without a train of attendants. It was difficult for him to manage, and he wasn’t even king. Or about to be. Odin had centuries left to rule. “I’m not sure,” Thor said. 

For years, you and Thor had exchanged dutiful letters. You’d been kind in them. Sweet. Solicitous. Inquiring after his health and his family. But dispassionate. Saying little of your interests. You spoke to him about training. Sometimes of an amusing thing, one of your ladies had done. But it was abundantly clear that you were writing to him out of obligation. So some of his replies had been perfunctory at best. And it had made you even less inclined to talk to him. So you hadn’t. And now Thor had no clue where you might be going. And he wouldn’t unless he followed you. 

So he did, throwing a cloak over his shoulders quickly and bounding out the doors and into the courtyard, leaving Loki in his rooms. 

It didn’t take long for him to find you again, your purple cloak over your white dress. It was clear that if other people in the courtyard saw you, your comings and goings were your own business. “Your Majesty,” he said softly, watching you step out of the gate and move towards the woods. 

The old-growth forest yawned ahead of him. Green and lush. Trees so big around that Thor felt like a child again. Next to no light filtered in from the sun overhead and cast everything in an eerie night-like state. When you stop and half turn, Thor freezes. 

“Your highness,” you say, “This isn’t really a place most people go for a stroll.”

“But you?”

“The forest holds no terrors for me,” you say, smiling a little. Thor scrambles closer, over tree roots and undergrowth, a sense of foreboding prickling at his neck. 

“No?” he chuckles.

“No,” you answer, “The forest exists to protect us. The castle and the people in it... You’ve nothing to fear if you mean no harm.”

“So where are you going?” Thor asked, offering you his arm.

“The temple,” you answer, taking it politely.

“Is there not a path?” Thor said looking around. 

You smile and tap your temple, “You’ll learn,” you tell him, “Everyone does.”

“Lead on,” Thor said, trusting you to take him there. 

You nod and start back on your path, finding your way through the trees as if pulled by a string. And Thor exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You could have been going to meet a lover. Or an assassin. But as the temple comes into view, White Marble covered in thick vines. The soft glow of firelight casting forbidding shadows of the columns. 

He knows it is a temple. A holy place. He can feel it as easily as he can feel you standing next to him. As you continue forward Thor follows after, sitting himself on the steps. He doesn’t follow you inside, but he can’t bring himself to go too much farther from you. He accompanied you here and he wants to accompany you back. It’s the sort of thing he reckons a husband should do.


	3. Chapter 3

You sat on your Throne, your appointed place, and watched the goings-on. Part of you missed the days when you could wander unfettered through the crowd, listening to the gossip and joining in the dances however you pleased. 

But, as you grew older, it was less seemly, and Aeon had been forced to bring you to heel a little, however much he hadn’t wanted to. But watching the Children, weaving their way through the adults, enjoying the Ball before it was time for bed, made you smile a little. You remembered that, feeling so grown up and important in your prettiest dress. Your hair pulled into curls and ribbons.

Your betrothed, you could see from where you sat. His blonde hair and hulking frame distinguishable from across the room where he sat drinking and socializing with his party and anyone in the vicinity. He didn’t appear intoxicated, and that was good. And he appeared in good spirits. That was also good. 

“You could look less...” The voice at your elbow makes you turn, just as he breaks off to grope for a way to finish that sentence, “Beningly dour,” he concludes, grimacing.

You roll your eyes and sigh, “Kamet, you know this isn’t my idea of a good time.”

Kamet, the dragon. Currently, in his human form, he rasps a laugh. “It’s what happens when you’re raised by a priest. Parties aren’t fun anymore.”

“I like parties fine... When I can participate instead of just presiding over everything,” you grouse. “It feels like attending my own wake.”

It was Kamet’s turn to roll his eyes, “Empress, your merriment rises and sets on you. If we don’t please you, request something else.”

“You know how I feel about that. The people do not exist to serve me. I exist to serve the people. We are not going to make the same mistakes that nearly plunged all of Fae into Civil War.” You turn back to the assembled crowd and smile a little. The people at least seem to be enjoying yourself. And you have little doubt that most of your mood is because of your impending wedding. An event that feels like it’s going to be the most significant mismatch in all of history. 

Kamet snorted, “Those were dark court fae. They torment their subjects for fun. This is the court of Spring. Surely you aren’t about to request some sort of blood sport.”

You shake your head, “Of course not. But. I also do not want our new friends to think that our subjects are nearly so biddable.”

“Oh, so this is a power move,” Kamet asked.

You give him a look that communicates several things. One of them a very public beheading if he does not lower his voice, and he shuts his mouth with a snap.

____________

“I wonder who that strapping gentleman is,” Fandral asks, jerking his head to indicate Kamet, who was now lounging on the steps, making idle commentary to make you laugh. 

“Kamet,” a Fae woman with blue skin and teardrop-shaped eyes said helpfully, “A Dragon who’s attached himself to the Empress’ household.”

“A dragon?” Thor asked. 

The woman nodded, “He has a cave under to keep,” she said. All of this was said as if it wasn’t strange. Or unusual. And as if Dragons weren’t bloodthirsty beasts. 

Thor frowned and sets down his ale. If he was to rule this kingdom, he supposed he’d best begin by letting you know that he did. And he walked towards where you sat, being idly entertained by a monster. 

__________

When a tall and very bulky shadow falls across your lap, you look up, smiling politely. “Your highness,” you say, gesturing for him to take the chair next to you. Above Kamet, but not above you. 

He bows but doesn’t take his seat, “Your Majesty,” he said firmly, “I think perhaps this should be a private conversation.”

You feel your eyes narrow, and you quirk an eyebrow, “Pressing Matters of state already?” You’re giving him a chance to adjust his tone. You don’t like it. And this is your kingdom. Not his. You might be marrying him to take the Throne in full, but it is not a partnership. Or if it was, it was only in name. 

Thor is dimly aware that he’s made a blunder. He is. He just isn’t quite sure how. Or where. But he can’t balk. Not in front of this interloper who is quietly watching the scene, scarlet eyes like coals in his head. Sparkling with barely suppressed amusement. 

Kamet, thankfully isn’t feeling like making anyone look even more foolish today. And he’s well aware of the temper that, while generally even, can exact quick vengeance. Something he knows Thor, the poor man, has no clue about. “Your majesty,” Kamet says respectfully, giving you a charming smile and distracting your attention away from where Thor grasps at straws. 

You turn and quirk an eyebrow at him, “Yes, my friend?”

“If your betrothed is up to the task of entertaining you, I think the gaming tables are calling me,” he said. 

“Running out of hoard, are you?” you chuckle. 

“Forever,” he said dramatically.

“Well, do me a favor would you?” you ask.

“Anything, my lady,” he said, grinning.

“Stop taking their gold before they start gambling off the family estates,” you sigh, “‘It’s terribly tedious hearing them complain.”

Kamet grins, “As much as it pains me to avoid dispensing a valuable lesson in morality, I’ll abstain.” He leaps off the steps and bows deeply, before backing away slowly, giving you at least the respect of not turning his back to you. 

You politely off Thor a seat again, and this time, he doesn’t refuse. He feels like a schoolboy being chastened even though you have yet to say a word. You’ve gestures for wine and to have ale brought for Thor, breathing deeply. Partly to calm your temper and slightly to force yourself to carefully consider your words. 

“Hear me carefully, your highness,” you tell him. Your voice is quiet. But when Thor looks up at you, he can’t breathe. You look furious. Quietly furious, but still. “This is my kingdom. My birthright. You can sit and look pretty. You can share my bed. But the Empire of Dreams is mine, Asgardian.”

Thor frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but you cut him off, “This is not a marriage that’s going to give power over my people to your father,” you warn, “And you either accept that now or we end this entire farce on amicable terms and I find someone who will.”

Thor nods, trying to hide his surprise. He didn’t feel endangered. But he did feel surprised that you didn’t seem to look kindly on this arrangement. You’d greater them well. And treated them kindly, but that little speech made it abundantly clear that everything was not, necessarily as his father had sold him


	4. Chapter 4

Thor was quiet for a long time. Watching things going on in the hall. The dancers. The messengers. Your unobtrusive security detail, Black-clad, and watching him carefully. 

He appreciated that. That level of loyalty. It might not be a significant presence. But it was a presence. They never took their focus off of where you were. Or where everyone else was in relation to you. Even him. And if they didn’t love you, nothing would be that tightly controlled. 

“I see you’ve noticed my Court of Shadows,” you tell him, smiling a little, inclining your head to indicate the black-robed man edging closer to be nearer to Thor.

“Spies?” Thor questioned.

“When the occasion calls for it,” you answer calmly, acknowledging the man with a smile and a raise of your glass. Wether in thanks or in command, Thor didn’t know, but the speed at which the man melted back into the recesses of the party was impressive. 

“When did this court become an... entity?” he asked. 

“Sometime between Aeon becoming my regent and My father’s death,” you explain. “Not all of my Uncles believed me... Suitable to follow my father to the high throne.”

Thor made a soft, thoughtful sound and nodded. That, he did know. Odin had briefly considered a number of your cousins. And then a coup, to take the crown. But ultimately, Odin believed you’d be more biddable. Easier to control. Especially with a Priest in charge of your upbringing. Priests, Odin thought could not, a good ruler make. And that had made Thor less than interested in you. 

But now? Now that he’s seen hints of teeth and claws? He was happy to say that, at there very least, he was paying attention. He knew that one day there would be children. And it was a blessing, of sorts, to see that you wouldn’t simply allow them to run over you. Or let him to run over you. 

“And what do you believe?” he asked. 

“I believe that it is time to do my duty,” you answer levelly. “For good or for ill, the crown has come to rest on my head. I am the Empress of Dreams. The Wildcat of the North. And the time has come. Aeon, gods bless him, has put his life on hold long enough.”

Thor grunted, nodding as he processed that. It was quietly expressed, but he could feel the power behind the words. The determination to follow your stars.

“And for Asgard?” he pressed. 

“I will do my best,” you tell him, “I’ve studied the things that were sent to me. And I have ideas.”

“Ideas?” he said, quirking an eyebrow, amused. 

“Your father’s foreign policy is horrific,” you tut, “how he thinks any of his current treaties are sustainable I will never know.”

“I’d give you a lot of gold to tell him that to his face,” he said, chuckling.

“I’m sure you would,” you say wryly. 

The silence stretched out for a long moment as Thor watches you, watching the dance floor. He doesn’t know this dance, or he might ask you to join him. To see if you’re compatible in less... polite to discuss ways. He certainly knows you are not a virgin, and that’s a comfort. Though he wonders what initiated you. And if it’s a story you might tell him if he asked nicely. 

“Empress!”

The shout makes you start and a page, young and freckles splashed over his cheeks skids to a halt in front of the steps, just barely remembering the manners his mother pounded into his head. 

“What is it, Boy?” you say, instantly alert as the band grinds to a halt. All discordant sounds. 

“The Lord of Spiders has returned,” he panted, “He requests your presence.”

“He requests me?” you say archly, quirking an eyebrow and leaning forward to look the page in the face. 

The boy pales and hesitantly nods, “He says that refusal means war, your Majesty,” he stammered. 

Aeon, unobtrusively stands at your other elbow, awaiting orders. Awaiting any word that he needs to begin organizing. You turn towards him slightly, “And at my betrothal ball,” you tut, “Has the man no shame?”

“Evidently not, my darling,” Aeon answered, folding his arms. 

You turn back towards the boy, clearly ashamed at having to deliver so churlish a message, “What does your mother call you?” you ask him. 

“Rif, your majesty,” he answered, growing paler under his freckles. 

“Find your way to the Kitchens, Rif. Tell Cook I sent you. He’ll fix you up with enough food to see you home... And when you get there, tell your mother she should be proud.”

The boy staggered backward, nodding, trembling as he went and bolted out of the room. 

“And I, your majesty?” Aeon asked, face getting tight. 

“Fetch me my bow and gather everyone into the hall... If the Bastard means to make war, it need not spoil the party,” you say, nodding. 

“Y/N,” Aeon cautioned, hesitating. 

“Have you different council, Uncle? With the enemy at the gates?” you ask, “What would you have me do?”

Thor watches several expressions cross Aeon’s face. Hesitation. Resignation. And finally, Pride. 

“Whatever it is you’re about to do,” he said, bowing slightly. 

“Meet me in the gallery. Send me my finest 3 archers,” you voice in quiet. Soft. Even Thor can scarcely hear you and he’s sitting immediately next to you. 

“Nero fiddled while Rome Burned,” you say to the assemblage, “And I intend to dance while the Lord of Spiders wages war.” Laughter answers the statement and Thor watches you stand, “But before I do that, I really need a change of outfit.”

More laughter follows you as you exit the hall through a side door. And Thor is left wondering what exactly it is you mean to do. He doesn’t even have time to ask you. You’re just gone.

And when he looks around, really looks. Three of your Court of Shadows have also gone.


	5. Chapter 5

It didn’t take Thor long after you disappear to decide to follow. There was only one way to understand, as far as he was concerned, and that was to see what was happening. 

Still. As he slipped after you, carefully tracking your shadow in the wall ahead of him, he wished he had taken more care. Worn actual armor. Brought his hammer. Anything. Still, he forged on, slipping up a staircase after you, looking up to where you were all clad in black. Blending in with the shadows.

You were crouched low, behind the parapets, seemingly explaining a plan, “We have to get to them BEFORE they have time to dig in properly,” you tell the three waiting archers. “They’re set up just beyond the city walls. And they’ve got an hour or time on us... But they forgot something significant. The Empire of Dreams houses Dragons.”

Low chuckles from the assembled make Thor shiver, but he creeps forward, ready to help, “Y/N,” he said urgently.

You don’t have time to stop yourself from cringing, and it makes him frown, “Yes, your highness?” you answer him.

“How can I help?” he asked. 

“By going back to the party,” you tell him with a sigh, signaling your archers. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked, signaling for his hammer. 

“Wreck their supply chain,” you say, “If they can’t dig in, I can buy some time.”

“Buy time?” Thor asks.

“To take Suit to the high court for peace,” you tell him, “They crashed a party. A betrothal party no less. Potentially damaging an alliance that could help all of Fae and delivering me a message that was frankly really rude.”

“So you’re going to raze a camp to buy time?” he asked.

“Hopefully, without killing anyone,” you add, knocking an arrow and taking aim. 

On either side of you, other people take aim and get ready to fire. Thor felt a little bit of a thrill. It was a solid plan. A plan that made a lot of sense, at least given what he understood of Fae politics. He knew that you were high up on the list of courts. Close enough to the top for Odin to be interested to start with. Using the system and giving yourself time to fight back.

Still. When the arrows start flying, and the panic starts on the ground, Thor is a little shocked by how much panic you can cause with a handful of well-placed arrows and supplies and tents start to burn. And burn bright. It’s an impressive display as people fall back running from the dragon flying overhead. Panic. Absolute mayhem on the ground. It was satisfying. 

Thor made a soft approving sound and watched. “Shall we?” he said after a moment.

You sigh and stand up, “One more thing,” you tell him turning to the people at your side. “See that anyone who needs it gets medical care,” you tell them.

The black-clad figures nod and go to follow your instructions, and Thor raised an eyebrow. “They were going to attack you,” he said.

“Yes,” you tell him, “But. My Uncle is still family. Even if he seems to have forgotten that. And his people will remember this moment. And will remember that when I could have killed them or left them to struggle, I didn’t.”

“And they won’t come back for vengeance?” he asked.

“Vengeance for what? Mercy?” you smile a little, “Like I said. Buying time.”

You allow Thor to take your arm, feeling tired. You don’t want this. You don’t feel ready for any of this. You don’t want to be Empress yet. And you wish you could look back at Aeon for what to do. Or just let him do it. This is awkward, Thor standing next to you. His hulking frame is intimidating, and you know. You know that he might be dumb, but he could still be dangerous. Odin isn’t known for his level headed policy. He’d all but strong-armed your father into this arrangement. Thor... You could probably teach him, but. It was going to be a long road. And you had no idea how you were going to manage both the Empire of Dreams and the Asgardians. If Odin didn’t murder you the moment, you managed to give Thor a male heir, they could use to run both kingdoms in their own image. A terrifying thought, to say the least. 

You stop at the base of the stairs and smile politely, “I should change,” you tell him.

“I- right,” he said, letting go of your arm. “Should I- I would you like me to walk you?”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him gently, aware that you have to walk carefully with him. “Thank you,” you tell him, “But no.”

Thor watches you go, feeling wrong-footed. By now, they’re sure to have noticed that he left. He hadn’t thought that it would cause a disruption. But now he wasn’t sure. You were the Empress. One day you’d be the queen of Asgard. But how did reputation work here?

He slipped back toward the ballroom, hoping to quietly rejoin everyone and wait for you to return. To perhaps find his little retinue and find a drink. With any luck, no one would notice that he had ever left.


	6. Chapter 6

Aeon watched as Thor slunk back into the hall and frowned. He hoped that, whatever you had just done had impressed him. Not because he cared over much about the opinions of Asgard but because he wanted this Princeling to understand what he was dealing with. 

You were not some simpering little miss. You were a Queen. An Empress. It was your birthright, and Frankly, probably better suited to the job than anyone else. You knew pain. And fear. And appreciated that those things were not meant to be the tools of a good ruler. He hoped that it would be enough. You weren’t a pretty piece of furniture. And for the life of him, Aeon couldn’t fathom how Farrin had thought this was a good idea. 

You didn’t need a husband to rule. If anything, having a husband was going to be a bigger hinderance to you than a help. Especially with that dunderhead at the helm. He knew how to rule about as well as Aeon knew how to dance. Which, if the last poor lady he danced with had anything to say about it, not at all. Thor wasn’t what you needed. Aeon wasn’t entirely sure anyone would bee a spouse like Thor. How the man was going to stay faithful he wasn’t sure. He’d not wandered. Yet. But his reputation preceded him. Aeon knew exactly what kind of man he was and didn’t have much to say to recommend him. Still. Aeon waited. 

He knew you’d slip back into the party in a change of clothes and try to distract everyone inside away from the chaos outside. The smell of smoke permeated the air. The sound of men shouting. Though thankfully, Aeon reflected, no one appeared to be dying. He exhaled slowly. Thankful that he’d managed to teach you mercy. To teach you to value the lives of people not your own. It was a small wonder, given the voices of generals in your ear. The angry, vitriolic, vile voices that told you to kill indiscriminately. Tainted by dealings with the night court. 

Aeon looked towards the courtiers. Towards the glitter and gloss. A thin veneer of civility and refinement that hid the rot of decades of neglect. Farrin had been a good man but, even Aeon had to admit. He was a piss poor king. One of a long line of lazy and pampered first sons. Sure of their titles and lands. The hungry second sons having sold their souls for a bite of something more... and the third sons? Even tempered, Aeon was glad to say. Wives, Mistresses, the Church... Even an occasional itinerant bard. It was a pattern. One that played out time and time again. And a pattern that Aeon was glad to see that had skipped you. 

When your mother had died in childbirth and Farrin had not remarried, it left you the sole heir to the kingdom. And second in line to the high throne of Fey... Second because of your grandmother’s affection for you. And her surety in your affections. It was a complicated web to navigate. And Aeon, not for the first time, he prayed to the Goddess to hold you in her capable hands. He knew not what storms awaited you, but he did know that Thor. The blonde, brash god of Thunder was not the husband you needed to stand at your side. 

As he watched him fill his ale horn once more and laugh at a story that was being told to him, Aeon felt his heart drop. No indeed, a vow of silence was simply not going to be enough. 

____________

“Uncle?” 

The quiet voice that makes Aeon turn makes him smile. For a moment, his niece is only 8 again. She’s not a Queen. The’s not an Empress. She is eight and she wants to know... something. Why did her father have to die? Does the Goddess really speak to him? Does she really need to learn to speak to Selkies?

“Yes, dearest?” he answers, turning and smiling a little.

“Must I do this?” 

Aeon sighs, “I’m afraid so, my Queen. There’s no court that would stand between the All Father and our tidy little corner of the universe.”

You sigh and lean against a column. The smell of the smoke burns in your sinuses and you feel sick to your stomach. “And how shall I do this? I think- I think he would have killed them. All of them.” The cool marble does little to soothe the heat you can feel on your face even now. 

“You must teach him mercy,” Aeon says quietly, “your heart, dear girl, is up to the task. For that, I thank the goddess that your mother was who she was.”

Aeon tilts your chin up gently, “You spared all the pain that you could,” he says gently, “Now go. You need to smile and you need to glitter. Do not let them see you rattled. There are eyes watching. Waiting.”

You exhale slowly and nod, “How will I do this without you, Uncle?”

“With grace,” he answered. “Grace and Honor.”

“I am not feeling particularly graceful... or honorable,” you mumble.

And that makes Aeon laugh. He turns you gently towards your party and sighs, “My darling, if you were, I’d be worried.


	7. Chapter 7

Thor watched you with interest. Aeon was at your side, talking as he followed you into the meeting hall. You had presence. People scurried out of your way as you swept down the hall. A tide of purple and stern expression. Not angry, but Stern. 

Intense. 

“When shall they arrive,” Thor hears you say as you pass nearer

“A Fortnight, Your Majesty,” Aeon answered, consulting the paper he held. “They intend to be at the wedding.”

“Well,” You say, pausing your rapid steps, “Far be it from me to disappoint... They were not on the guest list but. If they arrive, we shall not turn them away. I’d rather we not be cursed before I have a chance to do anything interesting.”

“Who is coming to attend the wedding?” Thor asked lightly. 

“It would appear the Unseelie would send a delegation,” you answer, half turning to look at your intended.

“Like trolls and the like?” he asked confused.

“The very same,” you say smiling a little.

“What use have they for a wedding feast?” Thor asked, feeling lost. 

“The opportunity to be snubbed, of course,” You snort. “Courtly manners give us the right to eject them, but the laws of hospitality say we must admit them... They are hoping we will choose to be right as opposed to happy.”

“And then?” he asked.

“And then they can blight crops or curse our first born or something,” you sigh. 

At the mention of a child, Thor felt the air get sucked out of his lungs. He knew, of course, that there needed to be an heir. Preferably an heir and a spare. And that you, likely, would be an enjoyable partner. But as he watched you, wave dismissively at the notion of curses, as he watched you resume your discussion, albeit canted so he could join in if he chose. For the first time, the gravity of what he was there to do settled around his shoulders.

You were going to be his wife. 

His queen. 

The mother of his children, gods willing. 

And you would be at his side. Forever. 

How would that work? Could Fey die? Were they immortal or long lived? What if you became the high queen? Where would you reside? Would he rule beside your or was the marriage bargain a way for you to gain more land?

His head swam with implications and he excused himself, making his way the the garden for fresh air.

How was this to work? 

He wished his mother was near. Or even his father. Someone who could give him guidance without mockery. Someone who could interpret the feeling in his chest. 

But there was no one. 

No one except. He stopped and took a deep breath. Aeon. 

Aeon, the ever present Uncle. Your closest advisor. And a priest. 

That might do, he thought, exhaling slowly. Perhaps having a religious in law would have some merits... If the man would speak to him that is. 

“Aeon,” Thor said clearing his throat.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Aeon said quirking an eyebrow.

“Might I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of Cour-”

“In private,” Thor added quickly, taking another deep breath.

“Of course,” Aeon said nodding, squeezing your elbow and murmuring something quietly into your ear.


	8. Chapter 8

“I had heard you wanted to speak with me, your highness,” Aeon said, making his way across the grass.

“I did- I do,” Thor said, clarifying quickly.

Aeon made a vague gesture for Thor to continue thought he turned towards the field where you’re sparring with Kamet to watch. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to begin,” Thor said tentatively. 

Aeon nodded, thinking, “Is it a matter of the soul or one of the flesh?”

“Are those my only options?” Thor asked, bemused.

“Do you have need of others?”

It wasn’t asked in a particular tone. One that indicated a lack of care or condescension. It was just an inquiry. And it was one that made Thor think. And he didn’t suppose he needed others. Not really. 

“No,” Thor said, folding his arms and looking the direction Aeon was cooking, to where you were sparring with one of your knights. “I don’t suppose I do.”

“Then what troubles you?”

Aeon’s voice was calm and measured. Not judging or accusing. Just asking. Encouraging Thor to continue with simple questions. Thor appreciated that. And he appreciate Aeon’s unhurried state. 

“Marriage, I suppose,” Thor said finally. 

“I see,” Aeon said smiling a little, “And what about it troubles you?”

“My bride, I suppose,” Thor said ponderously, “How can I be a good husband when I know nothing of her?”

“That’s the benefit of a long life, I suppose. You have a long, long time to figure that out.”

“But what if we don’t suit?”

“Then you must reach a detente,” Aeon said with a sigh, “Your father has decreed that this marriage must happen. He means to win another plot of lad for Asgard... This. This was our one chance to keep from being embroiled in centuries of war. And so loathe as he was to do it. My brother signed the treaty and promised her to you.”

Thor winced. He’d known some of the details, obviously. And as a younger boy, he’d thought the princess would be coming to him. As a playmate. It wasn’t until he got older that he realized if she came to Asgard it would be as a hostage, until she came of age. “Does she loathe me, then?”

Aeon gave the man beside him a speculative look and exhaled slowly, “Hatred requires passion,” he said, “And she’s indifferent to you... For the most part.”

“Indifferent?”

“Aye,” Aeon said chucking, “She finds you pleasing enough to look at but that, for our Empress, does not attraction make... And it isn’t as if you’re separating her from some great love. So. So far as she is concerned you’re a callow prince come to try and claim her throne... And she doesn’t believe that if Asgard were to take it they could hold it.”

Thor took a moment to process that and quirked an eyebrow, “Callow?”

“Is she wrong?” Aeon asked lightly. 

Thor looked back to where you were striding towards them. A message in hand and a small cadre of knights and a page boy trailing after. If he wasn’t mistaken the air had changed. It felt thick. Like a storm was coming and carried with it something else. “Get me Kamet,” you tell Aeon. “Tell him I need as many of his kin as he can rouse.”

“Your Majesty,” Aeon said, bowing at the waist, “What shall I tell him?”

“Tell him,” You pause and look towards the sky, “Tell him that Maeve has decided to shorten her path to the high crown. And that I aim to repay my debt.” You stride forward again, cloak billowing on the gathering breeze as you bark orders to your senschenal and to guards you come across.

Thor and Aeon look after you and Thor exhales slowly. This is no panicked response. This is calculated. This is a contingency being put in place. “Perhaps you’re right,” Thor said softly.


	9. Chapter 9

Thor watched from horse back with Loki and the Warriors three as you organized generals and pages alike, dispatching people with messages to raise a larger army for the move south to defend the high throne.

“A singular Lady, that,” Fandral said approvingly. 

Thor half turned and raised an eyebrow, “Thinking of making your own declaration?”

“Gods no,” Fandral said, dodging Hogun’s playful shove, “I’ll leave Kingship to those more qualified than me. But I can admire a talented lady when I find one... Though I do wonder what it’d be like in your marriage bed.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively, “I hope you like being submissive.”

Volstagg rolled his eyes, “Keep your tongue Civil,” he admonished, “Such talk could be treason here.”

“It isn’t,” Kamet said, “It’s just crass and distasteful.” 

The four of them turned quickly, Hogun nearly falling off his horse and being righted by Fandral quickly. 

Kamet’s face betrayed nothing but mild amusement but still, Thor felt his face heat. You were his intended. And a Queen. The cavalier way Fandral had spoken of you, in the open, rankled.

Thor cleared his throat as the silence stretched on and took a deep breath, “My Lady’s preparations appear to be going well.”

“Indeed,” Kamet said nodding, “Maeve is not beloved in these parts. And for her to turn her Armies on her Grandmother? Reprehensible.”

“Is there any great danger to Queen Titannia?” Volstagg asked.

The Dragon laughed, smoke curling for Human nostrils as his eyes heated, “Not so long as My Lady has a say in it... She’s in no great hurry to Ascend the the high throne.”

“What happens should the Empress fail?” Thor asked. 

“Should the High Throne fall?” Kamet exhaled slowly, “Civil War at the least. At the most? Damage to the very fabric of reality.”

Thor felt his eyes widen and Kamet smiled wryly. “As long as my kin have resided on this plane, the Fey have kept the balance. Between light and dark. The horrendous and the wonderous. And the Empire of Dreams? Everyone wants it. It’s the second highest Throne in fey. And it’s strength? Unmatched... Keep eyes on your Empress. I worry less for Titannia and more for My Lady’s pretty neck.”

His last statement was delivered in a near whisper. Calling on them as allies to protect his Empress and Thor felt the hair raise on his arms and the back of his neck. A quiet call to action. And all he could do was nod. 

“We will protect her,” he said. 

“Good. Because I doubt you’d want to marry Aeon if she dies,” he said nodding, nudging his horse forward to ride at your side. The foreboding melting from his face into an expression of lazy, indolent, amusement. And for the first time since he met Kamet, he didn’t fear his connection to you. Because he realized, out of every courtier, Kamet, may be the only one who really knew you.


End file.
